The Universe
by Arkaeo
Summary: A man stood, an impossible distance away, around something wonderful and bewildering and—noisy. She stared up at him and he stared back, alarmed as she was. ONESHOT, for every Doctor Who fan and companion-at-heart.


Author's Note: As this is my first piece of creative writing in over four years, it's simple and personal. I hope you enjoy it, and I welcome constructive criticism. It's been a while, after all, and I'm sure I've got rough spots that need smoothing out.

Dedication: This is for every companion-at-heart.

_The Universe_

by Dream Descends

She walked down the hall. Around her, students filed in and out of classes, milling around doorways, checking their phones, laughing, contemplating.

She walked down the hall. Her steps were rapid, even, one after the other. She looked straight ahead, not because she hoped to see but because it seemed appropriate. The long windows to her left washed the clean, modern concrete of the corridor in autumn gloom, and the familiar pitter-patter of rain on glass mingled with the hubbub of student life rising from the bodies around her. Everyone had somewhere to go, just as she did, and after they got there, they would have something else to do. Life was repetitive, constant, slippery.

She walked down the hall, and briefly she saw the crooked smile of the boy hearing his friend's joke, the flexing fingers of the girl nervous to enter a lecture hall—unimportant specifics that stood out only because she sometimes liked to feel connected. She liked to reassure herself that other people felt things, that others made this trek through concrete and voices and sensed what she did. There was something venomous in this regularity; something humiliating. They were all helpless to it, sometimes ignorant of it, but it hurt them just the same. Every day she walked down the hall and felt it squeeze her until her breath left her, until the colour of things faded and what hope she had allotted herself that day was well and truly gone.

There were better days. There were days she remembered the buttery warmth of sunlight, the grittiness of sand, the touch of hands and old books and good friends, and she thought the universe might still yet be amazing. Those days were few and far between, and lately they left her aching with dissatisfaction, so she no longer looked for them. Presently there was a lingering uneasiness in the pit of her stomach, hollowing her out, and she thought it might be those memories, so she ignored it.

Faster now, she walked down the hall. Just before the stairs there was a mirror, and she often stopped to glance in it. Most people did, and while she might have ascribed the habit to an epidemic of vanity, to collective insecurity, she suspected it was simply the desire to meet the eyes of someone who knows you perfectly. So she glanced, and greeted herself with a blink. Not for the first time she was quietly overwhelmed by how well she blended in, how utterly common and unexceptional she looked among the people and the benches and the large blue phone box—

_No_. Wrong. She turned on her heel, and where there had been nothing of interest before, the large blue phone box was unsettlingly obvious. She crossed the hall in two steps and, not entirely sure of anything, touched what to her fingers felt like very solid and real wood.

The crowds shuffled past her, unaware, as the weight of her arm opened what she belatedly realized was a door.

A man stood, an impossible distance away, around something wonderful and bewildering and—_noisy_. She stared up at him and he stared back, alarmed as she was.

She might have said something, yelled, ran, if he had not then smiled, and met her eyes with a look that she had only seen before in her reflection. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small leather wallet, which he tossed to her unceremoniously.

She caught it clumsily and flipped it open. Inside was a small square of tired-looking paper, alive with words that ran across every inch of it; familiar words, private words, words she had uttered only in her thoughts and dreams and loneliest moments. Across them all in bolder lettering, a phrase rewrote itself again and again.

She pressed a hand over her mouth, looking once more at the man, who stood with his hands in his pockets, still smiling. She took a step inside.

_The universe might still yet be amazing._

FIN


End file.
